


Lost Things

by Luraia



Series: Lost and Found [1]
Category: Mary Poppins (Movies)
Genre: Death of a bicycle, F/M, I promise, It's not all sad though, Just not as major characters, The place where lost things go, potential Character Death, the Banks family is also in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:41:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luraia/pseuds/Luraia
Summary: Jack is lost in a place of lost things.  He needs to find his way back, before his door closes, and he remains lost forever.





	Lost Things

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a companion piece: Found Things. Technically, they can be read in either order, but I wrote this one first.

Jack opened his eyes and saw light.

Generally, light was good.  He wasn’t entirely sure why he was seeing it now, though.  He had the strangest feeling, like he was forgetting something important.  It was like when one walked into a room and then forgot why.  This wasn’t a familiar feeling for Jack (his home had very few rooms and very few reasons to enter them), but it was pervasive.  He didn’t feel anxious, though.  He had a calm sort of sense that everything was fine…he just didn’t quite remember why he was opening his eyes and looking into light.

He also had that niggling feeling like he was supposed to be somewhere else.  Not an anxious feeling (he knew in his bones that everything was fine), just persistent.  He had been doing something important, and…but he didn’t remember what.

Somehow, he couldn’t quite find it in him to worry over the feelings, or to strain his brain too hard to remember.  He felt calm.  Settled.  At peace.  Everything was fine.

He took a step towards the light.

Someone called his name.

He didn’t hear them with his ears, but he heard someone calling his name all the same.  They weren’t calling for him from the light either; it came from behind.  It wasn’t sound…it was almost like he _remembered_ hearing his name called and he could feel that it was behind him, just as clearly as if someone had grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged.

“Jane?” Jack said, not at all sure where that name had come from, not even entirely sure who Jane was, just that she was _important_.  He turned around.

Behind him was white.  It wasn’t the light, but it wasn’t darkness.  It wasn’t anywhere.  It was just white.  Jack took a cautious step forward, not entirely sure if he was in a strange room, or outside somehow, or somewhere else entirely.

“ _Jacobo_.”

 _That_ voice, he heard with his ears.  And it did come from behind him.  He turned again and his mother was there.  He didn’t have to strain his memory to recognize her; the word ‘mama’ dropped into place the moment he saw her and everything the name meant: love, comfort, safety, warmth.  He did have a sort of notion that something strange was happening, but he felt too settled to worry over it.  Was there something strange about seeing his mama?  He couldn’t remember why there should be.  He smiled at her and she smiled at him, and when she held out her arms he stepped forward into a comfortable hug.

The hug niggled at him too.  It felt…different than he remembered.  Like they didn’t fit together in the same way he had expected.

“ _Jacobo_ ,” his mama said, and this time, along with the warmth, there was a hint of scolding.  “ _You are not supposed to be here yet_.”

“Sorry, Mama,” he answered, the only thing to answer to one’s mother when one is being scolded.  It was so instinctive he didn’t even feel confused over what he’d done to merit the scolding in the first place.

The calm persisted, but the way everything kept not adding up quite right was starting to get to Jack.  He knew who he was, because it seemed to be engrained in his very bones: Jack.  And _Jacabo_ was what his mama called him, and only her.  He knew that too.  And he knew she was his mama, but they didn’t fit together.  And he could still feel a tug, as if someone, or several someones, were calling for him.  He had been doing something important, and now he wasn’t, and he couldn’t remember why he’d come there, or where there was, or…or anything except that he was Jack and this was his mama.

“Mama?” he said.  “Where are we?  What am I supposed to do?”

She let go of the hug, but not of him, keeping her hands firmly on his shoulders as she took a step back to look him up and down.

“ _You are standing in the doorway.  What did I always tell you, Jacabo?  You must decide, in or out_.”

There was something off about her words.  She sounded like Mama, she _was_ Mama, but it was like his ears were doing something strange.  She was speaking to him in English…but when she spoke English it was never this readily.  And she didn’t speak it when she was scolding him.  It was almost like…like she was speaking Spanish and he was hearing English.

“I don’t understand, Mama,” he said.  “A doorway to where?”

“ _You are lost_ ,” said Mama.  “ _If you want to be found, you have to go on, or go back_.”

Jack still didn’t understand.  He sensed that this was important, maybe the most important choice he’d ever have to make, but he didn’t understand what the choices were.

“What does it mean if I go on?” he asked.

“ _You will come with me_ ,” answered Mama.  “ _You will be early.  We will be pleased to see you, but you are too early._ ”

She was scolding him again.  It was the same sort of scolding he got when he got into fights, defending someone smaller from bullies.  It meant ‘I understand and I am secretly proud of you but I have to scold you for fighting’.

“Sorry,” he said in answer to the tone.  “And what does it mean if I go back?”

“ _It will be difficult_ ,” she warned.  “ _It may be impossible.  Not everyone gets to choose.  You might get lost on the way, and the longer you are lost, the smaller the doorway out gets.  If you stray too long, you will have no choice but to go on.  But if you do get back, you will be where you are most needed, I think_.”

“If I’m needed, I should go back,” Jack said.  His mama nodded, but she looked sad.  He frowned.  He would do anything in the world if it would stop his mama from looking sad.  “You want me to go on with you?”

“ _No_ ,” she answered firmly.  “ _Not yet.  It is rude to show up early.  Wait until it is your time.  You go back to your girl and your family_.”

Then she hugged him tightly, kissed him gently, and let go, stepping backwards towards the light.

“But if I get lost?” Jack asked, starting to feel lost already, feeling instinctively that he was losing something, though he didn’t understand what.

“ _Then I will see you soon_ ,” she said.  “ _But you will get the scolding of a lifetime for being early.  Go, Jacobo.  We will meet again when the time is right_.”

And then she stepped backwards again, and then again, and then she was gone.

Jack stared at where she had stood, feeling as confused as ever, then turned away from the light once more.  He could still feel the calling, and cautiously, he stepped towards it.

It felt…wrong.  If standing by the light had left him feeling calm and settled, then every step _away_ left him more and more unsettled.  Before, he knew he was forgetting something important, but he didn’t care.  Now, he did care.  And something of what he was forgetting was seeping back into him with every step.  It took him five steps to know why he’d felt strange hugging his mama.  The last time he had hugged her, she had been bigger than him.

“Mama?!” he called, spinning around again and looking towards the light.  It was further away than he expected.  The white seemed to be indoors somehow after all, for now he got the impression he was looking up a long tunnel and the light was at the end.  He didn’t see his mama, but he could sort of feel her there, waiting.  He got the idea that there were many people waiting there for him.

There were people waiting for him in the other direction, too.  _Screaming_ for him.  He turned away from the light again, and continued to walk.  He walked through white and walked, and eventually he noticed that the tunnel, for it was a tunnel, was turning, and then all at once it opened and he was somewhere else entirely.

Where, he didn’t know.  It looked, if he had to give the place a name, like an attic.  Only it would be the largest attic in existence.  Perhaps it didn’t even really look like an attic so much as _feel_ like one.  He felt like he was up high, and in a place where things were put away, a quiet place where nothing happens and everything is waiting.  At least, that’s what Michael’s attic always felt like, the few times he’d gone up into it.

In looks, it really looked more like a giant curiosity shop, the kind where one can find anything and everything.  There were tables and tables covered in, well, stuff.  Jewelry, and toys, and ribbons, and old photographs, and small coins, and buttons, and socks and books and a hundred other items, mostly small but a few quite large; he passed entire buildings from time to time, from tiny huts to a huge cathedral.

Jack paused to look at a full sized wardrobe that, upon opening the door, turned out to be stuffed to the brim with socks.  He ran his hands through a giant trunk filled with marbles.  He picked up a small stuffed rabbit, turned it about in his hands, then put it down again.

Nothing, he noted, was broken.  Nothing was dusty.  Nothing looked faded.  Some of the items, mostly the socks or toys, had clearly been mended at some point in the past, but nothing had holes.

Jack had no idea how long he wandered between tables and baskets and piles of things, until it occurred to him to wonder where he was going, and if it was in the right direction, and if there was an end to the giant room.  He paused, and looked around.  He looked down at the floor, which was an interest hodgepodge of tiles, wood, and carpets altogether.  He looked up towards the ceiling.  At first, he thought he saw about a hundred kites and balloons hanging up there, hiding the ceiling.  Eventually, he began to think those objects _were_ the ceiling.  He looked around for walls and found none, nothing to create a boundary for a room anyway.  There were barriers of sorts, made from a mound of stuffed animals, a pile of tin soldiers, a stack of old cradles.  None of the barriers were an outer wall though, nothing to define the dimensions of the space.

Next Jack tried to listen for the voices that had been calling to him.  He somehow knew he was still being called, but he couldn’t hear it.  He couldn’t tell in what direction he was being tugged.  Finally, he sat down on an old rocking chair and had to admit the truth.

“I’m lost.”

“Well, of course you’re lost,” answered a voice.  “You have to be, to find your way here.”

Jack hopped up and spun around.  There was a woman there, standing between a tall stack of old books and what looked like some sort of white sculpture in the shape of a castle.  The woman was looking closely at the castle, a slightly puzzled frown on her face.

“I know you,” was all Jack could think to say in response.

“Yes, of course,” she answered, then, “I do believe it’s made of baby teeth.”  Then she stepped away from the castle, walked around Jack’s chair, and made as though to shake hands.  Still feeling confused, he nonetheless offered his hand in return.  Instead of shaking hands, though, she pulled him forward into a tight hug.  “Thank you, Jack.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered, more from habit than anything.  Then, “I do know you.  Who are you?”

“I’m Kate Banks, of course,” she answered. She was still hugging him.  It should have been getting awkward, but it felt too natural for that.

“Oh,” said Jack, and then, “Are you my…sister?”  For he knew she wasn’t his mama but she felt a bit like family.  The woman, Kate Banks, laughed.  She had a lovely laugh.  She finally stopped hugging him and hopped half a step back, still holding his hand.

“Almost,” she answered.  “You are very lost, aren’t you.  Do you even know why I thanked you?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Hopeless,” she said, with a bit of a smile that somehow turned a critique into a compliment.  “You’re a lot like Michael, you know.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, ‘who?’ but before he could, she was tugging at his hand.

“Well,” she said.  “Come along then.  Let’s find your door.  I couldn’t bear to see the children’s faces if you stayed lost.  And poor Jane!  Just imagine, and right when she’d almost gotten up the courage, too.”

“The courage for what?” Jack asked, though what he really wanted to ask was, well, about everything, because he had no idea what this woman was talking about, but he couldn’t figure out how to verbalize that so he latched onto the last bit she said.

“To ask you into the family, of course,” answered Kate, still gently tugging him along past an old boat and through a veritable tangle of hanging mobiles.  He followed behind like an obedient child, too confused to do anything else, and let her torrent of words wash over him.  “Not that you aren’t already family, but it will be nice to see it all official.  Annabel has already decided that she will be a bridesmaid and not a flower girl.  You should have seen Jane’s face when _that_ announcement was made.  And of course Jane tried to say that nothing was set, and maybe you didn’t want to get married, as if that were ever in doubt.  Why you haven’t asked her yourself, yet, I can’t fathom.”

“I couldn’t afford the ring,” Jack answered, and then stumbled to a halt, almost making Kate fall from the suddenness.  She gave him a reproving look, but he was too startled by the memories falling into place to even offer a ‘sorry’ as he normally would.  She looked him up and down and forgave him anyway, her eyes far too understanding and knowing.

“We’re getting close to your doorway, then,” she said.

“You…you’re Kate Banks,” said Jack.

“Yes, I did say,” she answered.

“I mean…you’re Michael’s wife.  And the mother to Annabel and John and Georgie.  And you’re…”

“Lost,” she said firmly.  “Of course I am.  Only lost things can come here.  This is a sort of in-between, you know.  Memory creates windows into this place, so we all come here to look out from time to time.  I come to watch Michael and the children, and sometimes I sing to them, and they don’t hear with their ears but I can see they _do_ hear all the same.  I’ve seen quite a bit of _you_ , lately.”

“If the lost come here, then why…” Jack stumbled over his words, but Kate waited patiently for him to finish.  At any rate, he wasn’t quite ready to ask the obvious question, and he turned to something else that was bothering him.  “My mama, I saw her, before…and she didn’t come with me…”

“She didn’t want to make your choice any harder,” Kate answered.  “Come along, now, Jack.  We’re close, but your door _is_ closing.”  And she tugged at his hand again and they started walking.

Feeling overemotional from the sudden overload of memory and the accompanying feelings, Jack let himself be led once more.  After a moment, though, he noticed something curious about the items surrounding them.

“Hey,” he said, “I know that penguin.”

It was only a penguin if one _knew_ it was a penguin.  It was a bit of black cloth and white cloth sewn together, stuffed with sawdust, and buttons for eyes.  Jack had sewn it himself, after listening to one of Bert’s silly songs.

“A toy you lost?” Kate asked.

“No…a toy I made to give away,” answered Jack.  The memory almost seemed to form in that moment, waiting for him.  He hadn’t thought of that penguin in years, or little Freddie.  Freddie who was always sick, and he had laughed at Bert’s song and, well, Jack was a child.  Grownups think of things like warm clothes and good food and medicine, but children think of the important things, and Jack didn’t have much in the way of toys himself, so he made a penguin and gave it away.

“Closer then, but not there yet,” Kate decided, and she tugged at him to go on.  Feeling slightly unsettled, Jack left the penguin behind and followed.

Soon, he started to get a stronger and stronger feeling of familiarity.  Wasn’t that the sock that somehow got lost during washing day?  Well, one sock looks much like another, so maybe not.  But didn’t he once have a pair of shoes just like those lying next to a bowl filled with buttons?  And then he saw a photograph.  It showed a child sitting on a man’s shoulders, and both were smiling, and the boy was holding up a torch to light a lamp.  And Jack hadn’t seen a lot of childhood photos of himself, but he knew Bert when he saw him and he _remembered_ that day.  It wasn’t a lost memory so much as one not visited in a long while.  It was the first lamp he’d ever lit.  He had felt taller than a giant, in that moment, and brighter than a sun.  There hadn’t been a photographer, he didn’t think, yet here the photo was, a frozen moment of memory.

“Oh, you were cute as a child!” Kate said, having noticed what had his attention.  “And now we are getting somewhere at last.  I was beginning to be afraid, I really was, because doors never stay open for very long and I really don’t want to imagine our family facing another tragedy, and, well, come on, it _must_ be around the corner.”

And she half dragged him around a vaguely familiar brick wall that didn’t seem to have any purpose, and then they almost tripped over a bicycle.

“Hey, my bicycle,” Jack said, because of course it was.  It seemed everything around them now had something to do with him.  Except…“But my bicycle isn’t a lost thing.”

Kate’s expression, almost a wince, and far too apologetic suggested otherwise.

“It isn’t lost,” he said again, “…is it?”

“I’m afraid it was a casualty of your heroic efforts,” she said.  “But you must not follow the bike.  There’s your doorway, Jack.  And still open a crack, too.”

He could see the door.  It wasn’t really a door at all, but a narrow opening into the same white tunnel from before.  It was just sort of there, without walls, and he was fairly certain he could walk a full circle around it if he wanted to.  He stared into the white tunnel.

“But that’s where I came from,” he said.

“No, that’s where you _strayed_ from,” she corrected.  “You were supposed to take the straight path, but, well, you got a bit lost.  It’s a hart path to follow.  There’s _pain_ that way, you see, and sometimes there’s a wall that no one could get through no matter how strong they are.  Luckily, I don’t see that for you, but it will be hard.  I am sorry Jack.”

Jack stared through the opening, into the white tunnel.  He could see that the opening was slowly, oh so slowly growing smaller.  It was rather like trying to watch the minute hand move on a clock.  He supposed he should go through now, in case it suddenly sped up or snapped shut, though he instinctively felt it wouldn’t.  Instead, he turned to look at Kate again.

“I’m almost dead, aren’t I,” he said.  He hadn’t wanted to say it before, even though every clue suggested it.  “That’s why I’m here.  But what happened?”

“You still don’t remember?”

“…I remember being on my bicycle.  Not being a leerie, just…I was visiting?  And the children were playing in front of their house…”

“Yes.  They were playing with Georgie’s new ball.  He was very excited, and almost knocked over a lamp, and Michael sent them all outdoors.”

“…Jane was there, too.  I think maybe I was visiting her?”

“Family outing,” Kate agreed, smiling.

“She waved to me and I waved back, and so did the children, and Georgie…dropped something…”

“His new ball.  It rolled into the street.  So of course Georgie ran after it.  He never does look before he leaps.”

“…That’s as far as the memory goes.  Everyone was smiling and happy.  What could have happened?”

“There was a car, Jack,” Kate answered.

And like that, the memory was there.  There was a car, and there was Georgie in the street, and there was no _time_.  He thinks he remembers screams, everyone screaming, but maybe that was just in Jack’s head because his heart was racing, roaring in his ears, and Jack didn’t remember thinking anything in that moment, just feeling the most intense terror of his life, and reaching, reaching, he was going to be too late…

“Georgie!” he says out loud now, reaching out, uselessly, as though he could stop anything from happening from there.  Then Kate’s arms were around him again, holding him, and he could feel his own heart pounding against her.

“It’s okay, Jack,” she said.  “It didn’t happen.  You were in time.  No one else could have done it, but you were almost there and on a bicycle and you swung into the street and you grabbed him and threw him clear.  He has a few bruises but he’s fine.”

“I…I was in time?” Jack asked, almost surprised himself at how small and scared his voice sounded.

“You saved Georgie,” Kate answered.  “You didn’t have time to save yourself.”

Jack took a few deep breaths while he tried to understand what she was saying.

“The car hit me,” he said at last.

“Your bicycle is a lost cause and you…you were hurt, Jack.  That’s why you’ve had such a hard time getting back.  Knocks to the head can shake anyone loose and…and if you choose to go back, it will hurt.”

Jack stepped back from her.  She had loosened the hug already, as soon as he’d calmed, and now he looked at the white passage again.  The doorway had shrunk.  Not so much that he couldn’t easily slip through.  He had a choice.

“If I don’t go back, it will hurt _them_ worse, won’t it.”

“How would _you_ feel if someone you loved saved your life and then died of it?” Kate asked.  Her tone was gentle, kind, but her words pierced him all the same.  He’d never really considered not going back (except for that one, brief moment, for his mama), but he hadn’t had the chance to wonder what it was like for the people waiting on him either.

He could feel them again, calling for him.  Crying for him.  They were in pain, and it was his fault.  Then he was in pain (slightly) because Kate had whapped him on the arm.

“Don’t you start thinking like that,” she said sternly, in such a motherly tone that he immediately said, ‘sorry’ and ducked his head.  “You saved our Georgie.  And you’re going to go back; I can see you mean to.”

She pulled him into a final hug, and whispered, “Thank you, Jack.”  And this time, he knew why, and he wanted to say ‘I had to do it’ but the manners his mama had taught him forced him to say ‘You’re welcome’ instead.  And then, because it really had to be said, “Thank you, Kate.”

They didn’t say goodbye.  In a place where the lost is found, goodbye was never the right word.

Jack slipped through the doorway, and into the white.

The wedding was in June.  The groom limped and had to use a cane, and the maid of honor was on the short side and the ring was only brass, but the guest list was immense, and the smiles were of the most beautiful quality imaginable.


End file.
